the footpath of the sparrow,
walking on air
to infinity’s arms.
the rustle of the skirt,
bare feet on the floor.
the hum of the pot,
simmering on the stove.
the cry of the spider’s web,
falling ever so slowly…
from its home in the corner,
safe from the broom.
the lick of the dog’s tongue,
both raw and gentle.
the snail trail of the bead
of sweat on your neck.
the pole shift of your hair,
from brown to grey.
the quake of your lips,
pulling me in.
the wetness of darkness,
sucked down the drain…
into emptiness that swallows,
breaking down the last note!
the smoke that leads
to the fire.
the hollow of the hand,
to the hard and the soft.
the salt of the sea
to the dark and murky unknown.
the erection and the breast,
to the womb that creates.
lightning to the thunder,
and thunder to lightning.
the hammer to the nail,
the bullet through the barrel.
the spirit through the book,
back to the tree in the forest.
the body to the grave,
the universe back to dust.
i follow…
the sound of the flute,
till i come to see…
that i follow nothing,
and no one at all!
for i am the path,
and the feet that walk.
i am the flute,
the sound and the lips.
i am the breath,
the desire, and the vision…
for i am no one,
and nothing at all!